


With Every Christmas Card I Write

by Missfoodie2shoes



Series: Foodie's Marvel Stories [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missfoodie2shoes/pseuds/Missfoodie2shoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James "Bucky" Barnes has left his life as the Winter Soldier behind, and is in hiding from both HYDRA and SHIELD. Christmas is approaching, but he's too busy surviving life on the streets to pay much attention to it. Will he have a Merry Christmas? Set in December 2014, the first Christmas after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Every Christmas Card I Write

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Just Like the Ones I Used to Know, with Bucky as the focal point. It entwines elements of the other story, but incorporates the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, as well. As with the other story, it is set up as a "daily" chapter, though I am posting it here in its entirety in one piece. This time around, though, I added an element of a recommended song to listen to while reading. Feel free to try it out! I wrote each chapter with the songs in mind! Happy reading and Merry Christmas, everybody!

**December 17th-Recommended music: Happy Xmas(War is Over)-John Lennon**

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes wandered through the streets of New York City. Ever since his memories had begun to return to him after a run-in with his childhood best friend Steve Rogers earlier that year, his life had been in turmoil. The horror of what had been done to him at the hands of HYDRA, as well as the atrocities he had committed for them, weighed heavily on his mind. He lived in terror of being found by HYDRA, and had gotten very good at hiding from them.

After spending a short time in the nation’s capital, gathering his wits and strength, he had returned, almost instinctively to his hometown of New York City. He had known it well, once upon a time. It was large enough to get lost in, and nobody would be looking for him there. Or so he hoped.

The warm summer months had been easy enough to handle. He meandered through the streets, taking whatever he needed to survive along the way, and found places to sleep in alleys or the occasional shelter when his hunger was too great. He wasn’t proud of his current state as a homeless thief, but there was nothing else for him to do. He had to maintain a low profile, for any word of a man with a metal arm getting out would bring HYDRA to him.

Now that the weather had grown cold, he could wear a coat and cover his arm, easing that pressure a little. But it was biting cold now and harder for him to sleep out of doors any longer. He hated staying in a shelter, because he disliked being around so many people, but some nights, the thought of a hot meal in his belly and a cot in a heated room was too much of a draw to keep him away. He did his best to stay out of fights, though he always defended himself if somebody started something with him. He was quick to establish that he was not to be messed with.

During the day, Bucky would wander the streets, gathering what information he could about the status of HYDRA, SHIELD, or Steve. He would pour over newspaper headlines at newspaper stands, look into shop windows or bars to watch any news that might be showing on their televisions. He also spent much of his time at public libraries, using computers to search online for information. Computers hadn’t been around during his younger days, but he had caught on quickly to them. He had already learned about Steve’s involvement with the Avengers Initiative and how he occasionally teamed up with Howard Stark’s son Tony. The guilt of what Bucky was responsible for in Tony Stark’s life had threatened to overwhelm him, and it still ate away at him.

Whenever he felt that he’d been in one place for too long, he would move to another part of the city. If he ever heard whisperings of HYDRA or SHIELD, he would get away from there as quickly as possible. He trusted neither of those organizations, if they had ever truly been two separate organizations at all.

He’d had a couple of close calls over the months since his escape, all far too close for his comfort. HYDRA was officially disbanded. Being a member of it was illegal, but he knew they were still alive and well-staffed. He could hear whispers of it on the streets. He knew the hand signals, gestures, and phrases used to acknowledge oneself as a HYDRA agent to another one. The city was full of them.

He had purposely kept his beard long and had allowed his hair to grow even longer in hope of disguising himself. He used to be called the Winter Soldier, but now he thought of himself as a ghost. A man who drifted through the world, but was never truly part of it. People looked right through him without ever seeing him. It came in handy when it was necessary for him to steal food for a meal or clothing to wear.

Bucky dreaded the day when he would be caught. When he could no longer outrun HYDRA. He never wanted to be the Winter Soldier again, but he feared what they would do to him if they decided they no longer needed him, or if he was too much of a risk to leave alone. A bullet to the back of the head would be a fast way to go, and maybe it would put him out of his misery, but he wasn’t ready for death yet. He felt that there was still something he had to do with his life. He just wasn’t sure what. Would he ever be able to redeem himself from all the sins he had committed in HYDRA’s name? What would Steve think of him if he ever found out?

As he wandered down the street, he heard two men talking at the end of the block. One leaned in towards the other. “Hail HYDRA,” he whispered into the other man’s ear. Bucky’s breath caught in his chest and he quickly darted across the street, behind a couple of young people who were carrying a Christmas tree home, and headed back the way he’d come. Time to move on again.

**December 18th-Recommended music: White Christmas-Bing Crosby**

Bucky had picked three pockets the previous night after escaping the scene of danger, and now had enough money to eat breakfast in a diner. It was warm there, and the steaming cup of coffee tasted delicious as he waited for his pancakes and bacon. This was quite a luxury for him, and he savored every moment of it.

Christmas music played in the background, reminding him of what time of year it was. The music varied between modern and old-fashioned, and he tuned most of it out when his food arrived. He was used to eating as quickly as possible. His whole life he’d done that. First, in the orphanage, where if you ate too slowly you risked a bigger kid stealing what was left of your meal. Then in the army, where most of his meals were eaten in moments he could find between shooting at his enemies. And as the Winter Soldier, he never really ate properly, he “refueled”. There was no pleasure in it, nor any excess time put into the act. Now, in his current state, he had to eat fast to keep from being caught. But today, at this moment, for this meal, Bucky was allowing himself to savor it. He took slow, small bites of the salty, crispy bacon, sipped the bitter coffee and drowned his fluffy pancakes in butter and syrup. It filled him up, but he continued to eat, until every bite was gone. He didn’t know where his next meal would come from, but this could last him until tomorrow if he had no other choice.

As he sipped the last of his coffee and left his money on the table to pay the bill, a song came on the radio that caught his attention. White Christmas, by Bing Crosby. It was now considered a standard, a classic, but he remembered when it was brand new. He’d heard it at home first, before joining up, and had found it terribly saccharine. He hadn’t given it a second thought. The next time he’d heard it, though, he’d been on the front lines in France, while fighting for his life. The Armed Forces radio played it at Christmas and the sadness of being away from home during the holidays, and the terror of the war had overwhelmed him. He’d wept in his tent the first night that song had played over there.

It had been a white Christmas that year in France, or rather, a red Christmas. It had snowed, but the beautiful, peaceful white mantle had quickly turned to red slush as more and more bodies had fallen into it. Nobody had a snowball fight or built a snow man that year.

As the song took Bucky back in time, he could hear the sound of shells exploding overhead and shaking the ground beneath him. He could also hear the screams of the wounded and terrified and feel the gun in his own hands, hot from use. His heart pounded so hard it threatened to explode inside his chest. He shook his head, trying to wrench himself out of the memory, but he was too deeply entwined to escape it.

Bucky stood rooted to the spot until the song ended. When the next song began, his heart began to calm down and he could breathe again. After looking around, he made it to the restroom just in time to be sick. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to get his breathing under control again.

He staggered out of the diner a few minutes later, with an empty stomach, but no desire to eat again, anytime soon.

**December 19th-Recommended music: I’ll be Home for Christmas-Josh Groban**

By the next day, Bucky had returned to his normal state once again. The memories of the past had abated and were once more safely in the past, where he preferred them to stay. They couldn’t hurt from there.

It was bitterly cold out as he walked down the street. The wind cut through him and the metal arm seemed to absorb the coldness and send it directly into the core of his being. With a grimace, he hunkered down in the thin jacket he was wearing, and when he came to a drug store, he slipped inside and stole a scarf, hat, and a pair of gloves in hopes of warming up.

The coldness of the day and his efforts to warm up helped keep the memories of the previous day at bay. His thoughts wandered to Steve as he ducked into a bookstore that afternoon to try and warm up. He walked over to the history section and explored the rows of books about the Second World War. Americans had such a fascination with that war now, though there was a lot of nostalgia about it. Romanticizing the past was a way of justifying it.

As he took a book out of the shelf and flipped through the pages to glance at the pictures, he wondered if Steve had dealt with this when he’d come back from being frozen. Steve’s war experiences, though, had been vastly different from his. Steve’s war had been cleaner, clear cut, and heroic. Bucky’s war had been bloody, murky, and thankless. The two could hardly be compared. He didn’t blame Steve, however. Captain America was a symbol of something greater than either of them. The symbol couldn’t get sullied in blood and death, after all. It had to remain above such things, or else it would remind too many people of what America was really doing.

Bucky wondered if the mantle of heroism ever weighed heavily on Steve. Steve hadn’t been meant for such greatness. He was small and scrawny. Such importance and responsibility would have broken him before. But Steve wasn’t that scrawny, sickly young man anymore. Things had been done to him—to both of them, though voluntarily on Steve’s part. They were no longer who they had been. The war and the events that had occurred during and after it had seen to that.

With a shake of his head, and a pang of sadness stabbing inside him, he set the book back on the shelf and began to walk out of the store. It was growing dark and time for him to decide where he would sleep tonight. As he walked towards the nearest shelter he knew of, Bucky wondered what Steve would be doing for Christmas this year. He hoped it would be a nice holiday for his friend.

**December 20th-Recommended Music: Christmas Eve in Sarajevo-Trans-Siberian Orchestra**

Bucky ran through the streets as though his life depended on it. His heart pounded with terror and he kept looking over his shoulder to see if he was still being followed. His worst nightmare had come true. He’d finally been spotted by HYDRA agents who had recognized him. The pair, a man and a woman, had been walking towards him, looking intently in his direction, though he’d done his best to avoid making eye contact.

The woman had whispered, “The asset,” and the man had nodded in agreement. Both had withdrawn guns discreetly. “You need to come with us,” the woman had said firmly, but calmly. Then she began reciting a trigger phrase that he suspected wasn’t the first time had been used on him. It made him want to obey her every word, but he’d fought it and before she finished, he’d clapped his hands to his ears, turned around, and ran in the opposite direction.

He ran as fast as he could, hoping his pursuers wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. He hadn’t killed anybody since leaving his life as the Winter Soldier behind, and he wanted to keep it that way. But he would do whatever it took to stay free from HYDRA. If that meant taking out a couple agents, then so be it.

After some time, the agents dropped out of his sight, but he continued to run anyway. They could be getting into a car to follow him more quickly, or calling for backup. He wouldn’t be safe until he was as far away as he could possibly get.

The sun was beginning to set and he knew he’d have a better chance of escaping in the dark. He ran blindly, taking several twists and turns along the way, to keep anybody following him confused.

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky finally allowed himself to slow down and take in his surroundings. He was struck with a sense of déjà vu as certain buildings began to look familiar. Not from a time that he had seen them recently, but from before. From his childhood. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt goose bumps break out on his good arm. He had been here before. He knew this place very well, or at least he had…Brooklyn…He had come home again.

So much of the neighborhood he had once known was gone, but there were a few buildings he recognized. A dilapidated shoe repair shop on one corner, an old diner on another. He stopped short when he saw a church that caught his eye. This was the church he’d gone to at the orphanage, with Steve. He was overcome with a sense of homesickness, though he didn’t know why.

Church…You’re safe at church, he thought to himself before taking a step towards the building. Light from inside lit up the stained glass windows, beckoning him ever closer. He’d never been very religious as a young man, and hadn’t given a single thought to God since the war, but at the moment, the church was where he wanted to be, more than anywhere else in the world.

There were people going about their lives there, and none of them noticed the disheveled man walking up the steps to the church, for which Bucky was very grateful. He carefully examined the sanctuary from the doorway before stepping inside. There was an exit at the back if he had to escape.

Since it wasn’t Sunday, there wasn’t much activity inside. There were a few parishioners praying or lighting candles, but nothing more than that. The lights were dimmed, and nobody paid any attention to him. He was most likely perceived as a transient seeking shelter from the cold for a little while-which was pretty much the truth, really.

The church still seemed familiar to him, after all the years of being away from it. It even had the scent he remembered. When they’d been young, he, Steve, and some of their friends used to sneak down into the basement and drink the Communion wine. Most of the time they managed to not get caught. A couple of times, though, they’d been found out and he could still feel the painful sting of the ruler whipping his hand as penance. Even though his left hand had been missing for nearly seventy years, he could still occasionally feel it. He looked down at the metal hand that had replaced it and swore he could feel the ruler hitting it. He clasped his hand tightly and held it close to his chest to try and make the sensation stop.

Once the phantom pain had faded, his mind turned to a thought sparked by the memory of his wine drinking days in the basement. The church would be locked up in a couple hours’ time, but if he could get into the basement, assuming it was unoccupied, perhaps he could sleep there for the night and not have to worry about anybody finding him.

Bucky sat in the back pew, which was under the balcony, obscuring him from view of the parishioners. He waited for the church to empty out and when the last parishioner had left, he stood up and walked to the foyer, and through a door he knew led to the hallway. At the end of the hallway was the door that would take him down into the basement. He was fully prepared to pick the lock if he had to, but thankfully, it was unlocked.

The musty smell hit him halfway down the staircase. More memories of his childhood and youth came flooding back once again. He and the other boys from the orphanage ran around the basement on hot summer days, enjoying the coolness the room provided. He thought he could almost hear the echoes of their laughter if he listened hard enough. And when he was older, he’d snuck down here a few times with girls, and kissed them without getting caught. A fleeting smile passed over his face; the first smile he could recall since before he had fallen off the train so long ago. With a sigh, he continued to walk down the stairs.

The basement hadn’t changed much over the years. There were still piles of junk covered in dust clothes and the Communion wine was still kept on the same shelf he remembered it to be.

Bucky removed one of the dust covers from a stack of folding chairs, and took a bottle of wine and a box of Communion wafers for his dinner. There was a small window at eye level and he settled onto the floor to one side of it. After wrapping up in the dust cloth, he opened the wine and crackers and ate his fill. As he looked up out the window, he could see snowflakes falling, lit from behind by a street light. He ate his makeshift dinner while watching the snow fall. In spite of having bad memories of the snow, a part of him always felt a thrill to see it falling. That small part of him that still remembered how much fun it was as a child to have a snowball fight or to go for a walk with a girl, holding hands and keeping close together to stay warm. He ate the entire box of crackers and drank the whole bottle of wine before settling down and closing his eyes from the snowfall. The wine made him sleepy and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep. He would be safe here. For tonight at least.

**December 21st-Recommended Music: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas-Judy Garland(try to find her version, the newer ones have been rewritten to change the meaning entirely)**

Bucky was terrified that he would be captured by HYDRA or SHIELD, but he never imagined himself getting caught by a nun. Perhaps the wine had been too strong, or maybe he had felt too safe in a church basement, but the next thing he knew, somebody was gently shaking him and asking if he was all right.

He groaned and opened his eyes, squinting from the light that poured in through the window. He saw an elderly woman standing over him. She was dressed in a typical nun’s habit and had a look of concern on her face. He winced, and used his normal hand to shade his eyes while doing his best to sit up.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked. “How did you get down here? You must have been tired, you slept all the way through Mass…”

“I…used to come down here as a child,” he replied, his voice gruff from disuse and too much drink the night before. “I remembered how to get here.”

The woman frowned. “You were a parishioner? When?”

“A while back,” Bucky said vaguely as he threw off the dust cover and staggered to his feet. He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, though part of him felt guilty for withholding the truth from a nun. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll just be on my way…” He took a few steps away from the woman before she called out to him again.

“Wouldn’t you like a hot breakfast before you go? And maybe a shower to freshen up?”

Bucky stopped and turned to look at her. He scrutinized her face but saw only earnestness in her wizened features. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of a hot breakfast he didn’t have to steal money for. And the idea of a shower did sound nice. It had been quite a while since he’d bathed. “I…I suppose I can stay long enough for that,” he finally replied. “But then I have to go.”

“Very well,” the woman said with a nod of her head. “Follow me and I’ll take you to the bathroom.” She slowly walked to the stairs and began her ascent. Bucky slowly followed behind her. “I’m afraid I’m not as fast as I used to be,” she called out apologetically. “What old age does to the body…”

Bucky followed behind her as they walked towards an area of the church he’d never seen before. The inner sanctum, the living space for the nuns who maintained the church. She led him to a private bathroom. “You’ll find everything you need in there. I’ll get you some towels and there are supplies by the sink if you would like to shave. I’ll also see about finding you some clean clothes from the donation boxes. I’m sure you’d like to put on fresh clothes once you get all washed up.”

Bucky nodded and stepped into the bathroom. The nun returned a few minutes later with towels and clothes before leaving him in privacy. He slowly disrobed and stared at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t even recognize the scary-looking face he saw staring back at him. He had a long, scraggly beard and his hair was long and matted. Dirt smudged his face and hand and he noticed for the first time how long his finger and toenails had gotten. He felt disgusted with what he saw. There was once a time when he had been very proud of his looks. He had never had a problem attracting women, but who would ever find him attractive now?

He examined his left shoulder. Where his metal arm had been grafted into his skin was inflamed and hurt to the touch. He winced as he tried to move it. It almost always caused him pain, but he usually did his best to ignore it. With a sigh, he picked up a set of nail clippers and began to clean himself up.

Bucky was in the bathroom for over an hour before he was satisfied that he was truly clean again. He had shaved off most of his beard, leaving only a small amount of growth left, to keep him warm and to alter his features from anybody looking for him. He had cut out the matted and tanged hair before using the razor to trim his hair down to a couple inches. His nails were nicely trimmed, his teeth brushed, and he had used half the bar of soap before feeling truly clean.

As he stood in the bathroom, wearing clean clothes, he felt decent again. He could recognize the man who looked back at him in the mirror now. With a sigh, he left the room and wandered around until he stumbled across the kitchen where the nun was waiting for him.

“My, you clean up well,” she commented with a smile, her eyes twinkling as she saw him entering the room. “I was beginning to wonder if I needed to send a rescue party in there for you.”

Bucky sat down at a table when she directed him to it and his eyes grew big at the plates of food spread out before him. After a moment, he helped himself to bacon, eggs, and a glass of orange juice. “I thought you should eat as much as possible before you leave,” she explained. “Who knows when your next meal will be?”

“Thank you,” Bucky said in between bites.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “And now, how about some introductions? I am Sister Mary Helen. What is your name?”

Bucky thought for a moment. Should he make up a name? Could a first name be enough to give himself away? His name was ordinary enough to not stand out. “I’m James,” he said quietly, looking at her shyly.

Sister Mary Helen looked at him closely. “Well James, it seems you’ve fallen on hard times in your life. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You’ve done so much for me already,” Bucky said before finishing his juice in one gulp.

Sister Mary Helen looked at him even more closely. “You know, you remind me of somebody I used to know. I can’t place it, though. It’s your eyes…”

James looked at the table, wishing she would stop scrutinizing him. “We have never met before,” he replied quietly.

The older woman nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps not,” she murmured. “Still, there’s a familiarity I can’t shake off…”

Bucky was unnerved by the woman’s persistence. After finishing his food, he pushed the plate away and stood up. “Well, I should be going now,” he said. “Thank you for the food and clothes and the shower. I appreciate it.” He turned and began to walk towards the door.

“Are you named after your grandfather?” Sister Mary Helen called out when he’d reached the doorway that led to the hall.

Bucky stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding. He could just walk away and leave her and the church behind him and never look back, but part of him wanted to connect with somebody else again. On top of living in constant hunger, fear, and guilt, he was also profoundly lonely. Nobody else, except for Steve, had ever gone through anything like what he’d endured over the years. To be taken from one time and land in another without having any chance to adjust was difficult and nobody could understand him like Steve could. But this woman could be trusted; he felt that instinctively. She was a nun, after all. He slowly turned around. “I wouldn’t know,” he said in a near whisper. “I was an orphan.”

Sister Mary Helen stood up and walked over to him. She gently grasped his chin and gazed deeply into his eyes for a minute. Her own eyes grew wide as she let go of him. “Bucky?” she asked.

(SCENE)

Bucky sat down at the kitchen table again later that morning, talking with Sister Mary Helen. She’d had to convince him that she wasn’t working for HYDRA or SHIELD before he’d allowed himself to talk to her again. “I knew you were familiar,” she said again. “It’s your eyes. I remember them. I remember thinking that you were one of the handsomest boys I had ever seen. You and Steve were the best of friends, always going everywhere together.” She had explained about growing up in the same orphanage as them, though she’d been a few years younger.

Bucky looked on with wonderment. Imagine finding somebody else from when he’d been younger. “I never thought I’d meet somebody else I knew,” he replied. He’d briefly explained running into Steve, though he left out the Winter Soldier piece for now. There would be time for that later.

“Well, you must stay here,” Sister Mary Helen said. “Would you like to stay on as our handyman? There’s always something that needs to be fixed around here, and old nuns like us aren’t as spry as we used to be. We could use your help. There’s a small room open here that you could use as a bedroom. It’s not much, but it beats sleeping in the basement or in the streets. You’ll be safe here.”

Bucky did feel safe from the world here. Nobody would think to look for him here. There was also somebody who remembered him here. Where else could he go? He was tired of running and tired of being homeless. It was time to have a home again. Finally, he nodded his head. “I’d like that.”

**December 22nd-Recommended Music: I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day-Casting Crowns**

Bucky had slept well the night before. It was the first time he’d slept in a real bed since before he’d joined the army. It had felt luxurious and he was very grateful for it. He’d had another hot breakfast and now he was standing on a ladder on the back porch, working on a light bulb that had burned out a couple weeks ago. The nuns who lived at the church were all too frail to climb a ladder and he was glad to be of use to somebody in a non-murdering capacity.

So far, nobody had asked too much about his past and they mercifully ignored his arm, though he had no doubt of their curiosity, for he’d caught several of them staring at it. They were a nice, kind group of women, however, and mostly left them to himself.

As the day went on, Bucky followed in Sister Mary Helen’s wake, assisting her wherever she pointed out something that needed to be done. They talked and got to know one another better as well. He was grateful to have a place to stay, for whenever he looked out a window, he saw the snow continuing to fall and the wind blowing it around.

After a filling lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, he sat down in a church pew with Sister Mary Helen and talked to her. He told her about the war. “I went to Europe and shot other guys before they could shoot me…That’s war, I suppose…”

He discussed what he and Steve had done with the other Howling Commandoes. “You should have seen Steve in his Captain America get-up. You’ve seen him now, so you know how big he is. Imagine him going toe to toe with a handful of Nazis. He could take his shield, lob it at them and take them all out in one shot. I, on the other hand, stuck with my reliable rifle. It got me almost all the way through the war…But then there was the train I fell out of…And everything changed after that.”

He told her about Zola’s experimentation, or what he could remember of it. “The metal arm…it hurts, a lot. It hurt when they put it on me, and it has hurt ever since. It’s what I remember the most about that time.”

He hesitated before finally confessing his sins as the Winter Soldier. “Over the years, I have done so many things…Maybe it’s finally time to tell somebody. Church is where you come clean, right?” It took nearly an hour for Bucky to recall all that he had done over the decades. At times his voice would grow tight and tears would prick his eyes. At others, he would stop speaking entirely until he could compose himself again. All through it, Sister Mary Helen held his good hand and looked at him with compassion.

“I just don’t know how to live with what I’ve done,” he concluded in a small voice. He frowned and looked down at his lap, unable to look her in the eye.

Sister Mary Helen nodded her head. “I can understand that,” she replied. “But you must remember that it wasn’t really you doing any of that. Somebody else was controlling you. Would you ever do those things otherwise?” Bucky shook his head. “Then you have nothing to fret about. If it is God’s forgiveness you are seeking, you need look no further. God knows what is in your heart and mind. There is nothing for Him to forgive. That guilt lies with those who used you for their own terrible purposes.”

Bucky sighed and looked up at the crucifix above the altar. The statue of Jesus stared down at him with unseeing eyes. Arms outstretched, hands nailed to the cross, another nail through the feet. There was not a look of pain on the statue’ face, but one of anguish, a great, terrible sadness. Blood from the thorn crown adorning the statue’s head dripped down the carved face. The blood that was shed, supposedly saved the world—Bucky included, but he just couldn’t imagine being forgiven for what he had done, even if he’d been in another’s control. With a sigh, he tore his gaze away from the crucifix and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he finally replied earnestly.

Sister Mary Helen squeezed her hand once again. “And that is just fine too,” she said.

They sat, hand-in-hand, silently for the rest of the afternoon in the pew, each thinking their own thoughts.

**December 23rd-Recommended music: Christmas Time is Here-Peanuts Gang**

“Bucky, I have such a treat for you today,” Sister Mary Helen exclaimed that morning after breakfast.

“What is it?” he asked curiously. In spite of how drained he had been after his afternoon of confession the previous day, he’d managed to sleep well the night before, and had awoken in a rather good mood that day. What sort of a “treat” could she have for him?

“One of the parish families has donated a Christmas tree to us,” she exclaimed happily. “There is a tree stand and all the decorations we’ll need down in the basement. Would you be able to bring them up and set the tree up for us?”

Bucky smiled and nodded his head. Now that he felt safe and welcome in his current surroundings, he felt like getting into the Christmas spirit. “I’ll work on it right now.”

The tree was on the back porch, sitting in a bucket of water. He left it there while bringing up all the boxes of decorations from the musty basement he’d been sleeping in just a few nights previously.

He set the boxes down in the living room area and set up the tree stand in the center. It took some time to wrangle the tree from the porch into the living room and then to get it standing upright in the stand. Fortunately his metal arm was strong enough to hold the tree upright while he worked on tightening the stand’s screws. Unfortunately, he ended up getting sap on his prosthetic hand, and had to deal with pine needles and tinsel sticking to it for the next several hours.

“Oh, Bucky, you look so festive,” Sister Mary Helen said with a laugh when she saw the strands of tinsel dangling from his arm. “Maybe we should put the angel on your head instead of atop the tree…”

Bucky rolled his eyes and ducked out of the way when she held the angel out towards his head. He took it out of her hands and set it on the mantle above the fireplace. “Maybe next year,” he said lightly.

After the tree had stood for a while and the branches had settled into place, the nuns gathered around it and directed Bucky in how to decorate the tree. “A little to the left,” Sister Mary Adelaide called out as he held up a red star ornament. “Just a little more…There!” she cried when he’d reached the spot she’d had her eye on. Sister Mary Constance had already instructed him in where to drape the lights that he had spent nearly an hour untangling. Now she was holding out ornaments, one at a time, for Bucky to hang.

Sister Mary Helen sat in a chair, looking amused. “Don’t abuse the poor man!” she called out to the other women.

“This, coming from a woman who hours before tried to decorate me like the tree,” Bucky replied. He laughed, for the first time since he could remember. With a wave of his hand, he shook his head. “It’s all right, I don’t mind.” He was relishing the sense of fun and lightheartedness, something he had not experienced for a very long time. He was patient with the nuns, and indulged all of their demands.

Once the tree was decorated, the last thing to do was to place the angel on top. A step ladder aided in reaching the highest branch and when he stood back and admired his handiwork, he liked what he saw. A bright, festive green tree covered in multicolored lights and a plethora of ornaments, both homemade and store-bought. Each one had a story behind it, no doubt. There was history on this tree.

The rest of the boxes contained decorations for the room and after a few minutes, Bucky set about putting them up around the living room area. There were holly boughs for the fireplace mantle, and he hung up the red and white stockings for each of the women. Candles dotted the tables and other surfaces and he strung a strand of plastic icicles across the large picture window.

The women oohed and aahed and commended Bucky on his handiwork while he lit a fire in the fireplace. “Thank you, ladies. I’m happy to help out,” he replied before following Sister Mary Helen into the kitchen to help prepare eggnog for the group.

“So, tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” she said casually while Bucky poured bourbon into a bowl of chilled eggnog. “What do you want this year?”

Bucky thought for a moment. He’d never imagined that he’d be living somewhere safe and have people he enjoyed being around at Christmas, so he’d never entertained the idea of a present. Not being caught by HYDRA and having a full stomach were his main goals in life, and if he could manage that, he didn’t need anything else. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea,” he answered honestly. “I have food and shelter now, and safety. What else does a person need?”

Sister Mary Helen smiled. “You know, I sent out some Christmas cards a couple days ago,” she said, seemingly changing the subject. “I have a few friends from over the years that are still alive and I like to stay in contact with them, especially during the holidays.”

Bucky set the bourbon bottle down and picked up a wooden spoon to stir the drink. “That’s nice,” he said before taking a sip to see if the flavors were right.

“One of them was to Steve…” Sister Mary Helen continued in a casual tone. She had told him about meeting Steve a couple years ago upon his return and how they had corresponded with one another ever since. “Nobody writes letters anymore, but he does.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s good,” he replied as he began to ladle out cups of eggnog for everybody. “He’s always been courteous that way.”

She nodded her head and accepted the glass he held out to her. “He’s a good boy,” she said after her first sip. “I do hope he’s enjoying the holidays this year. It sounds like with SHIELD’s collapse, there’s a lot to keep him busy.”

Bucky sighed at the role he’d played in all of that. He was trying to take Sister Mary Helen’s advice to forgive himself, but it would take time. He poured out the rest of the eggnog into cups and brought the tray into the living room to serve everybody else.

When everybody was contentedly sipping their drinks, Bucky sat down on a chair by the window and looked out at the snow that was still falling. He listened to the stories the women told of their childhood Christmas memories, and even added a few of his own. Christmas at the orphanage had been meager, especially during the Depression years, but it had still been fun and special. Sometimes the only present he got was an orange or a banana, but he remembered them being the most delicious things he’d ever eaten. It was nice to be around people who understood that and didn’t look at him strangely or pity him for not having had as luxurious an upbringing as they’d had. He didn’t need pity or guilt directed towards him. It made him feel uncomfortable.

For once though, his memories were happy, and he enjoyed thinking about them. They weren’t extraordinary, but they were his. They were untouched by the war, by Zola, by HYDRA; they were pure and true. He relished them.

It was memories of his childhood that filled his mind that night as he drifted to sleep in his warm bed.

**December 24th-Recommended Music: The Christmas Song-Nat King Cole**

For the first time in several days, Bucky felt safe and confident enough to venture outside. The nuns had given him money and a shopping list and it was his job to procure a Christmas ham and all the trimmings. The nearest grocery store was only a couple blocks away, so he didn’t have far to go, though he kept a close eye on everybody who passed him by on the way. By the time he arrived at the store, he was confident that there were currently no HYDRA agents in the area, and turned his thoughts back to the task at hand. It would be the first time since leaving the Winter Soldier behind that he would be going to a store to buy food with money. It was nice to not have to steal any longer.

The selection of hams this close to Christmas was sparse, but he managed to find one large enough for everybody. He placed it in the shopping cart and continued with his list. The nuns wanted rolls that came in cans, something he had never heard of before. He was forced to ask for help after a failed attempt at finding them himself. One of the store employees directed him to a refrigerated area and he was astounded at the variety of breads in a can. Biscuits, miniature croissants, French bread, pizza dough, and cinnamon rolls, among others. He wondered how they fit all the rolls in such a small can. He shook one of the cans, but couldn’t hear anything inside it, and was even more confused. In the end, he picked out two cans of biscuits and added them to the cart. He hoped the nuns knew what they were doing in asking for them.

Next, he made his way to the produce section and was intimidated by all the different types of potatoes he saw. Small, large, red, white, even purple! He picked out some of the russets that looked the most familiar to him and hoped he’d chosen the right ones. Green beans and Brussels sprouts hadn’t changed since his time, and he felt confident as he stocked up on them.

There were now pre-made pie crusts one could buy in the frozen foods section. Frozen foods were a revelation to him. The industry hadn’t existed before the war and he hadn’t been privy to anything related to cookery afterwards, until now. As he stocked up on the items he needed for a pumpkin pie, he felt grateful that the women would be cooking the meal, for he had never cooked anything in his life before and wouldn’t know where to begin.

When his cart was full and his list was complete, he made his way to the check-out line. The sisters had given him cash and he hoped he had enough for all the supplies. The total came to just a couple dollars less than he’d been given, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the bagger filled four bags with all the food.

It was no problem carrying all the bags home in his arms, though his sight was partially obscured by them. He arrived back at the church just before lunchtime, and helped them unpack the bags.

Once lunch was over, Bucky was sent to the sanctuary to sweep and clean for Midnight Mass. There was dirt and leaves all over the foyer from parishioners traipsing in out of the snow throughout the week. It took a couple hours to sweep and mop the floors. All the while, he thought about going to Midnight Mass when he’d been a child at the orphanage. He would usually sit in the back, with Steve and the other boys, and ignore most of what was going on. They would whisper to each other and do their best to stay awake. He had never taken it seriously as a child. Once he’d become of age, he’d stopped attending altogether.

This year, he was all jumbled up inside. He had a lot of anger over what had been done to him. A happy Christmas celebration might not be the best place for him. Perhaps he should spend the evening in his room, alone, contemplating his life. Sister

Mary Helen snapped him out of his thoughts when he was finishing up with the mopping. “It all looks wonderful, Bucky,” she said with a smile. “It will be perfect now for Midnight Mass.”

“I hope the parishioners enjoy themselves tonight,” Bucky replied as he picked up the mop and wrung the water out into the bucket.

Sister Mary Helen furrowed her brow. “You will be joining us, right?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders before picking up the bucket and beginning to walk it to the back to dump it down the sink drain. “I don’t know, Sister…I just don’t know if God and I are currently on speaking terms.”

Sister Mary Helen sighed. “I understand, my son,” she replied. “But please consider coming. You never know what might happen at Christmas.”

What harm would it do? All he’d be doing otherwise would be sleeping. And it would make his friend happy… “All right, I’ll come,” he agreed reluctantly. “But I’m sitting in the back row, where nobody will see me.”

“Very well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

They arrived in the back living area and Bucky poured the bucket down the bathtub drain. “Guess we’ll see.”

(SCENE)

Later that night, as promised, Bucky walked into the sanctuary and sat in the farthest pew back, where he’d gone the first night he’d come to the church. The balcony shielded him from view, and nobody noticed he was there. He sat, arms folded, looking at the pew in front of him. He felt a surge of annoyance when somebody sat down next to him, even though there were spaces available elsewhere.

“Is this seat taken?” the man asked quietly while settling in and taking off his jacket.

“No, go right ahead,” Bucky replied sullenly. He continued to look straight ahead, paying the man as little attention as possible.

“Great,” the man said. Another man sat down next to him and removed his jacket as well.

Several minutes passed and Bucky managed to almost forget about the man sitting next to him. It was then that the man leaned in close to Bucky and whispered to him, “Do you remember when we used to sneak down into the basement and steal the Communion wine?”

Bucky looked sharply at the man before gasping. It was Steve! “What? How? What?” he sputtered.

Steve didn’t answer right away, but drew Bucky into a tight hug instead. “I’ve finally found you again,” Steve murmured. “Sister Mary Helen and I exchanged Christmas cards and she told me about you. I had to come. I had to see you again.”

Steve let go of Bucky and introduced him to the man to his right. “Bucky, this is Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Bucky,” he said, smiling back and forth at the two men. Sam held his hand out and Bucky took it, shaking it in return.

Mass began a minute later, and there was no more talking after that. Bucky’s mind was reeling. Steve had found him! What would happen now? What was Steve doing with his life? Would he expect Bucky to join him and act as his sidekick again? It looked like he had somebody else to fill that role now, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to play that part anymore now that the war was over. They couldn’t just go back to the way they’d been before; too much had changed for both of them. He and Steve would have to get to know each other all over again.

When the Mass was over, the three men stayed in the pew as the church emptied out. Sister Mary Helen approached them slowly and came to a stop in the pew in front of them. “Bless you, my children,” she said. “You’ve found your way back to one another once again, and I suspect there is a lot for you all to discuss. I’m sure we can find space for you all to stay tonight, if you like. Two more for Christmas dinner will make for a jolly party.”

Bucky nodded his head. “I wouldn’t mind hearing what you’ve been up to,” he admitted while glancing at Steve.

“There’s a fresh supply of Communion wine down in the basement,” Sister Mary Helen said casually as she turned to leave. “I’ll leave you boys to it, and I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned back towards them, and made the sign of the cross. “Merry Christmas, my dears.”

The three men stood up and Bucky led the way down to the basement. He wasn’t sure what would happen in his life, or where his state of friendship with Steve stood, but at least at this moment he felt perfectly safe, and happy, and hopeful. What more could a man want for Christmas?

**December 25th-Recommended Music: 1.) Celebrate Me Home, Kenny Loggins; 2.)Let it Snow-Frank Sinatra**

Bucky stood at the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes on Christmas morning. Steve and Sam stood on either side of him. Steve was chopping onions and Sam was preparing the green beans and Brussels sprouts. After a long night of catching up with one another and drinking Communion wine until they all fell asleep in the basement, Sister Mary Helen had woken them a couple hours later to announce that it was her Christmas present to the rest of the nuns that the three men should prepare Christmas breakfast and dinner for them. Bucky had sworn he’d seen a gleam of impishness in her eyes as she’d told them.

Breakfast had consisted of oatmeal, toast, and sausages. Bucky, having no experience cooking, had been put in charge making the toast, and he’d been quite proud not to have burned any of it.

Now, though, the men were silent as they worked. Occasionally the sound of one of them yawning filled the room. Bucky’s prosthetic arm allowed him to peel potatoes with extreme speed, which made him wonder what Zola would think if he could see him now.

Steve’s eyes closed over the pile of onions he was chopping and Bucky looked over when he heard a loud thumping noise, only to see Steve’s head pressed against the cupboard door and hear quiet snores emanating from his best friend. Sam glanced over, saw Steve and rolled his eyes at Bucky. “Look at this fool,” he said with a shake of his head. “And he’s not even hung over!”

“He’s going to breath in all those onion fumes,” Bucky commented before setting down the potato peeler and the tuber he was currently peeling. “Steve…Steve…” he said before reaching over and tapping on his friend’s shoulder.

Steve murmured something unintelligible, so Bucky flicked his cheek with his metal fingers. That woke Steve up with a jump. As predicted, the onion fumes caused his eyes to well up and tears began to stream down his cheeks. With a sound of anguish, he rushed over to the sink and proceeded to rinse his eyes out.

Bucky shook his head. “Are you sure I took all the stupid with me to Europe?” he called out while folding his arms. Steve was still washing his face and responded with a particular hand gesture to express his displeasure over the situation.

Sam laughed and set his knife down. “He never acts like this around me,” he said. “He’s so…Boy Scout usually…”

Steve finally stood up and turned the water off. He wiped his face off with a clean towel before speaking again. “You know, that’s the problem with kids these days,” he said with a grin. “They all seem to think we were naïve, innocent saints back in the day. But I could tell you some stories about Bucky that would keep you up at night,” he continued.

“I wasn’t _that_ bad,” Bucky objected as he picked up the potato he’d been peeling. “I mean, I gave bullies a run for their money, but I wasn’t so bad…”

The three men returned to their tasks in silence, but with more energy than before. Bucky sliced the potatoes while Steve carefully read the instructions for preparing the cheese sauce. Sam finished up with the vegetables and moved onto preparing the ham. He looked around the kitchen, opening and shutting all the drawers and cabinets. “Is there a pantry?” he asked Bucky.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

Sam frowned and shook his head. “There are no pineapple slices,” he said. “You can’t make ham without pineapple slices…”

Bucky moved onto the canned biscuits since he was waiting for Steve to make the cheese sauce for the potatoes. He read the instructions carefully and found two baking sheets in a cupboard by the stove. It took him a minute to get the edge of the paper on the outside of the can to start peeling, but finally he managed it.

When the paper was about halfway off, the can emitted a loud popping noise and expanded suddenly in his hand. His heart pounded from the sudden shock and he gasped audibly while dropping the can onto the counter. He proceeded to smash the can with his prosthetic arm, automatically, blindly, until Sam came to stand next to him.

Sam didn’t touch Bucky, but called out to him to get his attention. It wasn’t until he raised his voice and said in his most commanding tone, “Stand down, soldier!” that Bucky stopped. He was breathless and the glazed look in his eyes dissipated. He looked at Sam with confusion. Sam sighed and reached out to gently grasp Bucky’s good shoulder. “It’s all right, man…It’s going to be ok,” he said quietly.

Steve looked on, concern showing in his features, but remained silent. Bucky took a deep breath and looked down at the mess he’d made. The can and the dough had been nearly obliterated and suddenly he was overcome with a sense of foolishness over what had happened.

Sam threw away the dough. “It’s all right, don’t worry about it,” he said calmly. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, and then you and Steve can go to the store and buy some more?” he suggested.

Bucky nodded his head and walked to the sink to wash his hands. He didn’t see Sam and Steve share a look of concern. Steve walked to the back door with Bucky in tow. As they left, Sam called out to them, “And get a can of pineapple slices while you’re there!”

Bucky was quiet as he and Steve walked to the store. He thought about what had just happened, and what had happened at the diner the previous week when he’d heard that old song playing on the radio. Something was wrong with him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground as Steve began to speak. “You know, when I came back, little things would set me off. I was really angry all the time and noises would startle me and suddenly I’d be back in the war. Sam calls it ‘post-traumatic stress’. He’s really good at helping people deal with it. He fought in a war too. Lost a buddy there…”

“Iraq?” Bucky asked quietly. When Steve nodded, Bucky grimaced. “I think I started that war…”

“ _You_ didn’t, HYDRA did,” Steve replied firmly.

Bucky was quiet again for a moment as they walked into the store. They made their way to where the biscuits were and as he picked up a can and held it in his hand, he spoke. “Maybe Sam can help me. Sometimes I feel like I’m going off my nut, you know?”

Steve nodded. “I’m sure he would,” he replied. He turned around and started looking at the signs around the store. “We can’t forget the pineapple or he’ll make us come back again to get it.”

They wandered around until they found the canned foods. “I’ve never had pineapple before,” Bucky commented as he looked at the picture on the can.

“It’s great on pizza,” Steve replied with a smile.

“I’ve never had pizza either.”

Steve smiled again. “Well, I suppose that’s something to look forward to. I think you might like it here now. There’s a lot of interesting stuff that didn’t exist in our time.”

After they purchased the items and left the store, they continued to talk. “You live in DC now, right?” Bucky asked.

“Yep. You want to move in with me? At least until you get all set up?” Steve smiled and looked at him hopefully.

Bucky sighed and looked away. “DC…that’s…I can’t go back there. HYDRA is looking for me. I don’t trust SHIELD either.” He shook his head emphatically.

Steve frowned. “What were you planning on doing then?” he asked.

“I…thought I would stay here, in the city. At the church. I’m their handyman now.” Bucky puffed his chest out with pride. Being a handyman might not be as glamorous or as important as being Captain America, but it was the perfect job for him as he got back on his feet.

Steve’s frown deepened. “But we just found each other again…”

Bucky’s heart began to pound as he thought about leaving the church. “I can’t go back to DC. Too many people looking for me there. As it is I can only hold out here for so long. I might have to move west or something.”

Steve looked around as they walked back to the church. “Well then…I’ll move back to Brooklyn too,” he replied. “I’ll rent one of these apartments and we can stay close. It’ll be just like the old days.”

“Except it isn’t the old days anymore,” Bucky replied. “We’ve both changed so much.”

Steve sighed as they turned a corner and stopped for a few cars going down the street. “I know…But I’d like to get to know you again, for who you are now, if you’ll let me. And you might like me again too, even though I’ve changed.”

After they crossed the street, they noticed a group of children down the block having a snowball fight while they ran around the parked cars. A moment later, Bucky saw that it wasn’t so much of a fight as it was an attack of all the children against the smallest member of the group, a little boy about five years old.

Bucky frowned and stopped walking. He handed the bag of groceries to Steve before bending down and quickly forming several snowballs. He carefully took aim before launching them and hitting each of the bullies. They turned in surprise and anger and saw Bucky and Steve both rounding on them.

“This doesn’t look like a fair fight to me,” Bucky commented as he stepped in front of the older children. Steve moved forward and helped brush the young child off, and helped him to build several snowballs of his own.

“He throws like a girl!” one of the older kids taunted as Steve stood up.

Steve placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve known many girls who could take you all out with one single snowball and not even bat an eye. Throwing like a girl is a compliment, in my mind,” he replied.

“No more picking on anybody, got it?” Bucky added.

“Who are you to make me?” the oldest child, a boy around twelve years, asked. Bucky looked the boy in the eye.

“I’m Bucky Barnes, I come from this neighborhood, and now I’m back. I don’t like bullies and I’m rather good at taking care of them.” He folded his arms. “You probably don’t want to mess with me.”

The look must have been sufficiently frightening, because the boy shook his head and held his hands up, as if in surrender. “Sure thing, mister,” he replied. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bucky replied. “You kids go back to your game, but play fairly. I’m going to keep my eye on you all, so you’d better behave.” With that, he turned and walked away, back towards the church.

Steve shook his head and hurried after him. “Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think,” he said as they walked.

“That was fun,” Bucky said with a grin. “I’ve missed this.”

Once they got inside, Steve and Bucky saw that Sam had prepared the rest of the food for them. He was now currently sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee with the nuns and swapping stories with them. “So, you were there for the fall of Saigon?” he asked Sister Mary Katherine, who had been an army nurse during the Vietnam war prior to becoming a nun. He shook his head sadly. “It couldn’t have been easy to witness. Thank you for your service.” He glanced over and saw Bucky and Steve in the doorway and jumped up from his seat. “Did you guys get the pineapple? I want to get that ham in the oven.” He grabbed the bag out of Steve’s hand and went to the counter to work on preparing the pineapple.

Steve made the biscuits while Bucky sat down to talk with the nuns.

“So, you’re staying aren’t you?” Sam asked quietly as he and Steve worked side-by-side. Steve nodded his head.

“He needs me,” he replied. “I can’t leave him by himself right now. He has some recovering to do still…”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Well, we’ll just have to look and see if there are any apartments available here.”

“You’d come too?”

Sam shrugged. “I might as well. I think I could help him and he seems all right to me.”

When the rest of the food was in the oven, everybody sat at the kitchen table and talked. Bucky hadn’t heard so much laughter in a very long time, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

By the time lunch was ready and the three men had served the nuns before serving themselves, Bucky felt that he had a lot to be grateful for this Christmas. Delicious food, good friends, safety and security. And now, he would have a relatively stable future, with Steve and Sam here to help him.

When everybody was stuffed and feeling sleepy again, Sister Mary Helen sent the three men outside “to play,” as she put it. As she shut the door behind them, they looked around and wondered what to do.

“So…what should we do?” Steve asked.

“Find an open bar?” Sam suggested.

“Nah,” Bucky replied. He smiled and shook his head. “Steve, did you bring your shield with you?”

"Yes, why?” Steve replied, his brow furrowing.

“Want to see how fast it’ll go down a snowy hill?”

Sam grinned. “I for one would like to see how fast it would go,” he added.

“You want to go sledding with my shield?” Steve asked. “Why don’t we go join that snowball fight instead? Sledding down the hill on the shield sounds dangerous…”

“Have you ever seen National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?” Sam asked. When both men shook their heads, he continued. “It’s totally dangerous, which is what will make it so much fun!”

Steve shook his head and sighed. “All right, I’ll be right back,” he said before going back into the church to retrieve it. He returned a couple minutes later, shield in hand. “Ok, let’s go, and I get to do it first.”

Bucky led the way to a nearby park that would yield hills high enough to sled down. After Steve went first, Bucky took his turn on the shield and flew down the snow-covered hill at an alarming speed, colors and lights of nearby houses flashing before his eyes. He felt a thrill as he neared the bottom of the hill. This was fun, something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. His heart pounded by the time he reached the bottom and came to a stop, but this time it was an enjoyable feeling, not one of dread or panic. As he walked back up the hill and handed the shield to Sam, Bucky realized that this had been his best Christmas ever.

Once they’d all taken several turns on the shield and were trying to decide what to do next, Bucky was hit from behind by something cold. He reached his good hand up and felt snow in his hair. He whipped around in time to see another snowball flying towards him and put his hand up to block it. The children from the snowball fight earlier that day had come to the park and found them. Apparently they were interested in a rematch. Steve used his shield to keep from getting hit, and Sam was already bending down to make snowballs of his own.

The battle waged long and hard that afternoon, but the three newcomers to Brooklyn would prove to be the winners of the Great Snowball Fight of 2014, in the end. Once it was over, the children noticed Steve’s shield, and though he wouldn’t allow them to sled down the hill on it, he did tell them a few stories about it.

“Let’s head back to the church,” Bucky suggested after a minute. “It’s cold outside for the kids. Let’s make some cider and get them some cookies.”

The children were enthusiastic about the prospects of free sugar, and readily joined them on the trek back to church. Bucky led everybody on as the sun set that afternoon. He smiled all the way.

**Author's Note:**

> "Sometimes I feel like I’m going off my nut, you know?”-1940's speak for "I think I'm going crazy."


End file.
